The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1887-09-15
4 WOMAN'S ERROR.

The young people of Groveland were
having a picnic. 1t was in pleasant
grove just at the edge of the main
road.
Most Of the village girls were there,
dressed in their crisply-starched and
neatly-ironed white dresses; some with
bright-colored sashes and bows to
match, others wreathed with wild
flowers gathered in the woods, which
stretched invitingly away in the shady
GOODNESS at the back of the grove.
Conspicuous among the rustic
beauties was Barbara Wi!dman. She
was tall bright-looking girl, whose
great dark eyes usually flashed back
merry answer 20 the jests of the rustic
beaux, who generally hovered around
her like moths around a flame.
Just now, however, their brightness
was under cloud; for Mark Everson
was standing at her side, and the
tete-d-tete she had for some time been
endeayoring to avoid was inevitable.
She was sorry to lose Marks friend
ship, and with woman's instinct she
knew that it must be all or nothing
from henceforth with him; and with
newly-learned insight into her own
heart, she now knew that she did not
love him.
Her answer must be No"
With all her gay friendly ways she
had not an atom of Intentional CO.
quetry about her, and with a sudden
resolution to end his suspense she
turned towards him.
well, Mark" she said gently,
''what is it you want to say to me?"
You must know without my telling.
Oh, Barbara, it is your own sweet self ]
want! | have been as true to you as
the needle is to the pole since the time
when, little boy and girl, we used to
go nutting together"
Poor Mark! | am sorry"
There was no mistaking the express
ion of the soft brown eyes. Genuine
pity was in them for the pain she was
causing, but no love.
Don't, Barbara! | can't bear it'll
Give me chance before you say
decided No I'll do things for yon no
one ever did before, if you'll only
promise to try and love me-"
just then young man rode by on o
powerful black horse. Mark saw
sudden change pass over Barbaras
face. Turning, he saw, with a bitter
pain tugging at his heart-strings, that
the eyes of the girl that he loved were
resting on the strangers face with a
rapt lingering expression in them
which had never irradiated them tor
him, her old-time faithful friend.
There was no mistaking the answer
ing look in the eyes of the equestrian,
as, bowling low, he rode lingeringly by,
turning ever and anon to smile at the
fair face which Mark knew now was
not to be the light of his home.
80 it is that stranger whom you
love! You need not deny it," he said
almost tiercely Il saw it in your
eyes"
Barbara answered, proudly:
Il do not wish to deny it." Then,
with a sudden change of manner, she
held out her hand: II love him as l
love my life, and have promised to
marry him; but, dear old Mark, let
us be friends for the sake of the pleasant
days of our happy childhood. Be my
brother, Mark!
Mark hesitated; but he could not re-
sist the pleading wistfulness of the
eyes, whose brightness shone through
mist which suggested that tears
were not far away. He took the soft
little hand in hls great brown palm,
hardened by manly toll.
Il will be your friend, Barbara, but
| cannot see you and be in your society
as have been. | could not bear it.
| shall sell the farm, and leave the
place.
mo, Mark; you need not do that to
avoid seeing me; for we are to be
married next week, and-and l shall
90 with him."
Mark looked at her in panied sur
prise, as, blushingly and hesitatingly,
she told him this, overcoming her
maidenly shyness and reserve 50 that
the honest heart, whose friendship she
coveted, would not drive its owner to
take rash step which might mar his
whole future.
Going away so soon, and with a
perfect stranger? Oh, little Barbara!
what do you know of him? He may
be fraud, for aught you can tell"
A sudden anger flashed up in the
girls eyes
Il know this, Mark: love him, and
it is cruel in you to make such sug-
gestion."
But you know nothing of his family
of his past life"
He brought letters to auntie. His
mother was an old friend of hers
Don't be worried, dear old Mark. He
is as good as gold. would stake my
life on it.
Mark sighed heavily and turned
away. The JOY of the afternoon had
gone for him, and another hour found
him on his way home
He did not see Barbara again until
long after her marriage, though her
wedding was quite an event in the
quiet neighborhood, for the friends and
neighbOrs were invited for miles
around, but poor heart-sick Mark stayed
away. For weeks after the beauiy
and happiness of the bride was the
village gossip. and Mark heard it talked
oyer until he felt as though he must cry
out in his agony.
Several years passed by, during
which Mark led lonely life. His dis
appointment, while not souring his
kindly nature, had made him indiffer-
ent 10 social pleasures.
But after time his uncle Clifton
| moved with his family into the village
| He had a number of dauohterS-